Nothing and Everything
by Lioness's Heart
Summary: Oneshot. It was easier to let it be a show, just another part he played. When she was gone, it was easier. He could simply be the Rogue and he did not have to be anything more. Being the King of Thieves had its perks. The power it gave him was one of them.


**Disclaimer: The characters and the setting belong to Tamora Pierce, not me. Otherwise, things would be different.**

**It's been about a year since I wrote anything in this fandom, so I may be a tad rusty. But, this bunny decided to bite, so it got life. This is a little lighter on the angst than most of my usual fics (still didn't kill Rosto, though). It's more aimed at that sort of numb and frustrated feeling when you really care about someone and they don't take it seriously, since that's how Rosto strikes me, at least as far as Beka/Rosto goes. Either way, I hope you enjoy the fic. **

* * *

It was like walking on the edge of a knife. The balance was precarious. The slightest weight would pitch him into one world or the other. It was a merry dance he did on the edge of the darkness.

He had always known exactly what he was doing from the day he had set foot in the city. He could feel it in his bones. He said he was there for entertainment; that was an almost-but-not-quite lie. He had found it entertaining, that was certain.

Rosto the Piper had always been a man to play by his own rules. There was such a thing as a law, and then there was a law that was meant to be broken. It was not that they were asking for it, but laws that made innocents suffer were more guidelines to him. Perhaps his tendency to throw guidelines out the window was not particularly helpful in that regard.

It was the same in Corus. One could almost say that it was worse in some regards. The slums were still dangerous, the lordlings still wandered out from their lavish homes for a taste of danger in the Lower City.

Yet it was far, far different in Corus. The rumors of the Terrier kept evil at bay to some degree. Any man who crossed her got one look at her ghost eyes when she was angry and ran for the hills. At least, that was what Rosto liked to tell her. He liked to pull on her tail. It was easier to play with her than to admit anything. He had learned long before not to let it be more than a game.

It was just a game to her, he knew. She would hit him if he tried to kiss her (and she had left a nasty bruise the last time) and she would bruise his pride when he tried to flirt. (Once upon a time, she hadn't turned him away like that, but those days were long past.)

It was no loss, he told himself. He had his choice of women, especially since he was the Rogue. He need not look too far. She might have made it a game, but he did not need her. He never had. All Rosto needed was a blade at his belt and he could make his way in the world. He did not need anyone at his side.

That was a lie. Then again, most of what he told himself was, as far as Beka was concerned. It seemed like those stories that he had heard as a boy – a man loved a woman but she did not love him in return. That unrequited love wore at his heart. It was a weakness. He would have more blood on his hands than could ever be forgiven if it meant keeping her safe.

He had a soft spot for he that he should not have had. It was a weakness that could be exploited should someone discover the extent.

He buried it deep. Deeper than anyone would dare look. He treated her like everyone else. It was a role he could settle into easily. His mother had been a player, after all. He was all but guaranteed to have some talent for the shows she had always been in (he had grown up in that world, after all, and it was expected there).

It was easier to let it be a show, just another part he played. When she was gone, it was easier. He could simply be the Rogue and he did not have to be anything more. Being the King of Thieves had its perks. The power it gave him was one of them.

But there were always those who craved what he had. There were always those who would take it from him given half a chance. Those were the people that made his life interesting. (He would have preferred that it was her, but he would settle for challengers if he had to.)

It was a narrow edge he walked, between the ghost of his predecessor and the Terrier at his heels. He could wax philosophical about where he stood and the law and the Dog that had taken his heart as if it were another bone for her collection, not really knowing what it was or what it meant.

He told himself that he could live without her. That he could pretend that they weren't friends. One day it wouldn't be a pretense anymore. Then his life would be easier. (He would never say he loved her. He could not. What they were was star-crossed and could never be. He would not end up like the dead lovers in the legends. He had so much more to do before he gave up the hardwood throne.) It would be easier without Beka Cooper and anything they could have had.

That was a lie.


End file.
